


What We Say and What We Don't

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-09-02 10:16:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 11,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16784956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: Assorted minifics from tumblr.





	1. 5: Things You Didn't Say At All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by meredithsock.

Despite all his protestations that they were immortal beings who needn’t subscribe to any holiday, and that if they were going to align themselves with any religion it ought to be Jewish on the basis of having been on Earth long enough that they’d seen Judaism begin and evolve first, Crowley insisted on getting Aziraphale Christmas presents. It wasn’t a problem, per se. It wasn’t a problem at all, actually, but Aziraphale felt he ought to put up at least a token of resistance to the idea. 

But Crowley was very good at picking out things Aziraphale genuinely loved to receive as gifts. Scarves and snuffboxes and chocolates and books and on one occasion an actual [Fabergé egg](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FCherub_with_Chariot_%28Faberg%25C3%25A9_egg%29&t=NDgxYjFhM2JlNTQ1MDJmMGNhMjk5YzUwOGNmOGUxNjViZTQ3MWIzNSxyQ3NyV2NvVw%3D%3D&b=t%3AB0Q-tlYEcyZq0uXFUpQaNg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fazfellandco.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F180632200292%2Fif-youre-still-doing-them-5-or-21-i-need-to&m=1), not a replica but an original, that Aziraphale firmly believed he ought to have looked into seeing if Crowley had stolen. He hadn’t. It was sitting on the vanity in his bedroom. 

And it wasn’t just that Crowley was very good at gift-giving, very good at paying attention and finding things Aziraphale had mentioned wanting or just knowing his tastes. He took an odd delight in cooking for Aziraphale, and taking him places, and showing him things. When Aziraphale had finally been talked into getting a mobile Crowley had started texting him pictures of things he saw during the day, at first with the frequent caption “this made me think of you” but as time went on usually without any caption or context at all. 

Crowley wasn’t very good at talking about his feelings but he didn’t need to be. Even someone much denser than Aziraphale could have told you Crowley loved him. It didn’t need saying, with something like that. 


	2. 6: Things You Said Under The Stars And In The Grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by dwarven-beard-spores.

“They think the stars have changed, you know. Humans. They think because the earth is moving through space that the stars they see now are different from the ones their ancestors saw six thousand years ago.”

“And are they?” Aziraphale asked, taking another drink from the bottle and passing it back to Crowley.

“Dunno.” Crowley said. He sounded unconcerned, sprawled out on the grass, his long legs tangled in the blankets they’d brought with them. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter, though. The point is they don’t believe in things lasting forever.”

Aziraphale didn’t know what to say to that. He took Crowley’s hand. 


	3. 9: Things You Said While I Was Crying (Crowley)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by swallowtailed.

Crowley was curled under a blanket, an empty pint of ice cream on the coffee table in front of him, when he heard the door open. It made him jump and scrub at his face, whipping his head around to look at the source of the sound, although he knew it could reasonably only be one person. 

Aziraphale was striding into the apartment with an air of impatience which vanished abruptly when he looked at Crowley huddled against the arm of the couch. 

For a moment, he stared down at Crowley with an expression of confusion. Then a musical swell on the television drew Aziraphale’s eyes to the screen, and his expression softened. 

“I’m sorry to barge in, but you weren’t answering your phone, and, well…” He said, folding his hands in front of him. Crowley could see him picking at the cuticle of his thumb. “I can come back later, if you’re busy.” 

“Stay.” Crowley said before he’d really thought about it. Aziraphale’s eyes flickered over Crowley’s face, back to the movie which was nearing its conclusion, and then at some point in the corner, avoiding Crowley’s gaze.

“I’ve come in at a bad time, you’d have to explain to me everything that’s happened.” 

Crowley laughed. “It’s Titanic, angel, you don’t need to have been watching to know what happened.” 

Aziraphale gave him a small shrug and moved to sit down. When he did Crowley scooted closer to him and Aziraphale stiffed before relaxing against him. After a few minutes he tugged the blanket from around Crowley’s shoulders and over the both of them. 

They sat in silence for a while, Crowley snuggling closer to Aziraphale and Aziraphale rearranging his arm around Crowley’s shoulder and running his fingers through Crowley’s hair. 

“Are you alright?” He asked after some time. 

“Of course I am.” Crowley said, not looking away from where Rose was covering her face with a bit of scarf to avoid the horrible Mr Hockley. “Can’t a demon watch a tragic romance and have a bit of a cry every now and then?” 

Aziraphale’s tone was very fond when he said, “I rather doubt it, but _you_ certainly can.” 


	4. 9: Things You Said While I Was Crying (Aziraphale)

The world hadn’t ended a week ago, and the bookshop had been restored— not that Aziraphale had known he’d lost it until Crowley had been surprised to find it standing— six days ago. The angel was still working through an inventory of the new stock, most of which he was fully intending on selling, but every once in a while he found something he wanted to keep. It didn’t quite make up for finding things missing. 

The shelf nearest the stairs going up to the apartment above had held a box, at one point. So far Aziraphale hadn’t mustered up the courage to look inside. The contents themselves hadn’t been important, not really. Just odds and ends, detritus from a very long life. Except… 

They’d all been things Crowley had given him, over the years. Nothing valuable, by any means. Nothing significant. A hand mirror. A watch on a chain. A pair of reading glasses. A paper flower. A small wind-up music box in the shape of a bird. None of it meant anything to Aziraphale intrinsically. 

And yet. And _yet_. Aziraphale had spent long stretches of time standing in front of the shelf where this box lived, staring at it, unwilling or unable to pick it up and check that the contents remained unchanged, unlike so much else in his shop. He was there, with his arms crossed and his mind whirring, trying to rationalize why he was so disturbed by the possibility of this small treasure chest being affected by Adam’s reset, when the bell over the door chimed out and Crowley came into the shop. 

“Hullo! Fancy a trip to the countryside? I feel like driving and I’ve got…” Crowley’s voice trailed off, and Aziraphale turned to look at him to find a perturbed expression on his face. 

“Angel, are you alright?” Crowley asked, moving to stand beside him and pushing his sunglasses up into his hair so he could look at Aziraphale more closely. 

Aziraphale sniffed and crossed his arms, stepping away from the shelf. “Of course, why shouldn’t I be?” 

“You’re crying.” Crowley pointed out, his voice very quiet.

Aziraphale blinked and put a hand to his cheek. His fingers came away wet. “Oh.” He said. “So I am.” 

“Angel.” Crowley said even quieter still, taking his hand. “What’s the matter?” 

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, and at the box again, and tried to think of words that would adequately express the strange fear he had. “Will you open that box for me?” Is what he said. Crowley raised his eyebrows. 

“Alright.” He lifted the box from the shelf and opened it, and his expression was unreadable to Aziraphale as he stared down into its contents. 

“You’ve kept these?” He said at last, turning the box so Aziraphale could see. His heart settled at last, seeing exactly what he’d put in there over the course of centuries glimmering back out at him in the gloom of the bookshop. 

“Of course.” He said, then swallowed. “I was afraid I’d have lost them.” 

Crowley looked at him for a long moment, then set the box back on the shelf and pulled Aziraphale into a hug, ignoring his squeak of protest. 

“I know it’s a bit silly.” Aziraphale admitted against Crowley’s shoulder, clutching him desperately and trembling a little as Crowley ran a hand across his back. He could feel the tears now, unrestrained, hot on his face. “After all, I didn’t lose you, and you’re far more important than some silly trinkets.” 

Crowley only hugged him tighter, sighing. “I don’t know what to say, angel, but it’s not silly.” He kissed Aziraphale’s cheek, tender and chaste. No doubt his lips came away tasting of salt. 

They held each other for a while longer, Aziraphale’s tears finally subsiding as Crowley kissed him again. “Do you want to come to the countryside with me, then?” he asked as they pulled apart and Aziraphale wiped at his eyes with his handkerchief. 

“Have you got wine?” 

“And a picnic basket, yes.” Crowley said with a grin. “C’mon, angel. It’s a nice day.”


	5. 14: Things You Said After You Kissed Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by fan-art-ic.

“I’m sorry, was that alright?” Aziraphale asked, furrowing his brow and biting his lip as he drew away again. Crowley was sure that if his hands hadn’t still been on Crowley’s shoulders he’d be picking his nails to shreds. As he made to pull them away Crowley caught them and tried to get control of his voice which had retreated to somewhere behind his sternum. Aziraphale watched him anxiously, his eyes roving over Crowley’s face with concern and… something else. Something that made Crowley feel _seen_ in a way he generally didn’t like, but from Aziraphale, it was sort of nice. 

“Yeah.” he eventually croaked, then swallowed. “More than alright.” 

Aziraphale lifted a hand to Crowley’s face and Crowley’s hand came with it, cupping Aziraphale’s hand as Aziraphale cupped his cheek. “Angel…” 

“Yes?” Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley kissed him, and Aziraphale melted, fitting himself against Crowley like they’d been made for this, and maybe, some deliriously happy part of Crowley’s mind said as his hands went to Aziraphale’s hips and waist and he pulled him closer, they had. Six thousand years behind this kiss, and Aziraphale had asked it it was alright. It was _transcendent_. 


	6. 18: Things You Said When You Were Scared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous. Based on that one line in the radio drama. God Bless Peter Serafinowicz.

“Aziraphale! _Aziraphale!_ ” Crowley shouted, his throat raw from smoke and from something else, something that was horribly close to tears. The people around him were giving him odd looks, and he couldn’t blame them, staring up the burning building with his chest heaving and his eyes wet behind his sunglasses. What were they all doing, standing around? Why weren’t they moving faster with that firetruck, with the water? If he lost Aziraphale now it was all over, because Crowley couldn’t fathom doing the rest of it on his own. What were the humans doing, staring, what was _he_ doing, yelling like it was going to do anything? “Oh for g- for sa- _for somebody’s sake_! This is my friend’s shop!” He said, and sprinted into the blaze. 

_My friend’s shop._ The phrase echoed in his head as he looked around at books with crackling spines, now crackling in a very different way as the flames ate them up. _My friend._ Was that true? Was that really what Aziraphale was to him? Crowley’s eyes roved frantically through the room, hoping to land on his angel, his _friend_ , no, his _something more than that_. His _almost_. His _someday_. His _when this is all over, maybe then we can try_ , _maybe then we’ll be safe_. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

Aziraphale wasn’t there.

Crowley picked up _The Nice And Accurate Prophecies_ from the floor of the shop and sprinted out again, his heart in his throat and his eyes flashing. 


	7. 20: Things You Said That I Wasn't Meant To Hear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by fan-art-ic.

Aziraphale sighed, closed his book, got up from his chair, and looked around in bewilderment that it was now dark. Six thousand winters hardly mattered in the face of such inventions as daylight savings time, and Aziraphale doubted he would ever stop being unpleasantly surprised by finding it dark at 4pm. And goodness knew Crowley never adjusted well to winter. He’d come hurrying into the bookshop several hours ago, insisting it was warmer in Aziraphale’s back room than in his flat, and gone to take a nap on the couch. 

He was still there, in fact, Aziraphale noted as he stepped into the kitchenette to make himself a mug of cocoa. Curled up under an old maroon knit blanket whose origin Aziraphale had long since forgotten, his sunglasses and suit jacket on the coffee table and his shoes on the floor. A brief smile flitted across Aziraphale’s face as he pulled things down from the cupboards. 

“Aziraphale.” Came Crowley’s sleepy murmur, and Aziraphale’s smile grew as he took out a second mug. 

“Tea or hot chocolate, my dear?” He asked. Crowley didn’t respond. “Crowley?” 

He was still asleep. Aziraphale stepped cautiously towards the couch, careful not to step on the squeaky floorboard in the corner, and peered down at the demon. Yes, definitely still asleep. Eyes pinched tightly closed, one hand flexing as he dreamed. 

“Fuck, angel, that’s good.” He said, or slurred, rather, shifting on the couch, and Aziraphale felt suddenly quite sure that he was looking in on something he ought not to be, something that Crowley would be heartily embarrassed about if he woke up and saw him standing there. Doing his utmost to ignore the soft sounds Crowley was making, Aziraphale retrieved his finished cocoa and retreated from the back room, fully intending to head upstairs and find something else to read until he could hear Crowley waking up.


	8. 2+8: Things You Said Through Your Teeth and Things You Said When You Were Crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by fan-art-ic.

Crowley ran like hell, not really thinking about where he was going, just trying to stay ahead of the rabble of people flooding through the streets. How he’d wound up in this situation he had no idea. Well, no. He had _some_ idea. It had been a very poorly timed and tone-deaf attempt at doing his job, trying to stir up the Christians. They were heading for the library, and he was doing he very best to get there first.

Aziraphale would be at the library. Aziraphale and Hypatia, Crowley thought with growing horror. _Hypatia._ The angel might be strong and sturdy and able to withstand a few blows by an angry mob, but she certainly was not. Crowley turned sharply down another street and redoubled his speed, cursing himself for a fool.

As the columns and arches came into sight Crowley slowed down just a bit, gasping for breath and squinting up at the building, old stone in the sun.

Then something hit him, hard, in the shoulder. 

A hiss of pain escaped him, followed by a cry as he fell to the ground. He pulled the spear out and threw it aside, getting back up with some effort. A rock hit him in the back of the head and he flinched forward, blinking. His vision wavered and he cursed again, unsteady on his feet and still running. 

“Aziraphale!” Crowley called out as he made it up the steps. “Aziraphale, you need to-” 

Hypatia rounded the corner of the anteroom and her look of consternation turned into one of horror as she saw him. 

“I’ll get Fell.” She said, making to run from the room, and Crowley shook his head and followed, trying not to sway and failing. Hypatia caught his weight as he stumbled and she guided him along the corridor, both of them yelling as they went. 

Aziraphale came blustering out of a side room and took hold of Crowley, gesturing for Hypatia to let go of him, his expression very grave and very, very anxious. 

“Crowley, dear boy, what on Earth-” 

“The Christians.” Crowley said, wincing as Aziraphale jostled him. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I-” 

“Hush.” Aziraphale said, brushing Crowley’s sweaty hair back from his forehead. “I’ll get you fixed up. I’m sure everything’s fine.” 

A clatter and the sound of pottery breaking in the anteroom contradicted his statement. Hypatia’s face whirled around to look back down the hallway they’d come down. 

“You need to leave.” Crowley said, gasping as his vision wavered again and another stab of pain shot through his shoulder. “I think they’re planning to burn the place down.” He closed his eyes for a moment and Aziraphale slapped his cheek, not hard, but enough to jerk him back to attention. 

“The back of your head is bleeding.” Aziraphale murmured, his eyes flickering between both of Crowley’s as he cradled his head. Crowley let out a breath. 

“Explains why my vision’s gone funny.” He said. Aziraphale made a soft sound in the back of his throat, and if Crowley didn’t know better the descriptor he’d attach to it would be heartbroken. 

“Don’t get soft on me now, angel.” He said, chuckling through the sudden tiredness that was sweeping up. Aziraphale nodded and turned to Hypatia. 

“Get the scrolls from your desk and leave. Now. I’ll do my best to head them off but just in case…” 

Crowley saw Hypatia nod in his peripheral vision but his eyesight had gotten too dim to make out her expression. The only thing he could focus on was Aziraphale’s face. He felt cold all over, apart from the wound in his shoulder, which was still bleeding profusely and radiating pain through his chest and arm.

Then his legs gave out. 

Aziraphale caught him as he fell and lowered him to the ground, panic rising on his face. Crowley tried to shake his head and couldn’t quite manage it. 

“Don’t look like that, I’ll be fine.” 

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale whispered, and his face was the only thing Crowley could focus on, everything else was dark and vague. A tear slid down his nose and landed on Crowley’s cheek. Crowley wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think of what.

“I don’t want… it took years for you to get a new body last time… you can’t…” Aziraphale was saying, babbling, one arm wrapped around Crowley’s body and fingers pressing into his shoulder, the other on the back of his head, trying and failing to heal the damage done to Crowley’s corporation. He could feel the warmth of it flicker through him and die, fade as Aziraphale’s concentration broke again and again.

“Ssssss alright.” Crowley said sluggishly. “I’ll find you when I get back to Earth, don’ worry, angel.” 

The sound of running footsteps was a vague and meaningless murmur behind him, and Aziraphale, crying like _he_ was the one dying, took up the whole of Crowley’s attention. He wished he could move his hands, cup the angel’s cheek, touch his hair, offer any small comfort.

Somebody was yelling behind him, and Aziraphale looked up at them with a fury that could level cities. Crowley had seen it do just that, once before.

“Get out.” said Aziraphale, his jaw clenched, and Crowley could feel his arms shaking as he pulled him closer, held him tighter. “How dare you.” 

Crowley didn’t catch what the leader of the mob said in response, but he felt Aziraphale press a brief kiss to his temple as he closed his eyes. 

_I’ll be back as soon as I can_ , he thought, and then it was dark. Something in Crowley sighed as the library faded out completely and he found himself Downstairs in front of the window for the Corporations Department. 

“ _Again_?” The demon behind the desk said, rolling her eyes. “Crowley, come _on_.” 

Crowley didn’t say anything as he snatched up a bundle of paperwork from the pile by the sliding glass divider and a pen from the cup. He took a seat in the waiting room and began the very lengthy process of requisitioning a new body, trying to shake off the way Aziraphale had looked at him, like he was losing something precious in Crowley dying rather than in the destruction of the library of Alexandria.


	9. 21: Things You Said When We Were On Top Of The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by meredithsock.

Safe.

That was the word that kept flitting through Crowley’s mind as they sat on Aziraphale’s coat in the setting sun, passing a bottle of wine back and forth. The world hadn’t ended and Adam hadn’t erased them from existence and they were together and they were _safe_. At some point an old man drove up in a delivery truck and took the sword from where it was half-concealed under their makeshift picnic blanket. Crowley didn’t really notice. He was bone-tired, and relieved, and too wrung out to pay attention for very long to anything that wasn’t Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale, whose fingertips kept brushing his as they shared wine. 

Aziraphale, who was giving him a look that was simultaneously solicitous and restless, like he wanted something but didn’t want to bring it up until Crowley did. Crowley thought he knew what it was.

As it started to get dark out, it occurred to Crowley that they’d probably be happier back in his flat, and he said so. Aziraphale stood up at once and pulled Crowley to his feet, catching him as he staggered slightly, and Crowley pressed his face into his shoulder for a moment. Safe.

He kissed Aziraphale, who pulled him close with a contented sigh. 

“I love you.” Aziraphale said when they came apart, and Crowley inhaled sharply, terror and relief battling in his chest. And then Aziraphale’s hand came up to cup his face, and Crowley closed his eyes for a moment. Safe. 

“I love you, too, angel. Let’s go home.”


	10. 22: Things You Said After It Was Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by fan-art-ic.

They were on a boat, at last. 

“That didn’t go well.” Crowley said conversationally. Aziraphale snorted in a very undigified way, but then, Aziraphale was never dignified during such times. War always seemed to bring out the worst in him. 

“No, it didn’t.” Aziraphale replied after a few moments. “And all over a woman.” 

Crowley laughed. “You know it wasn’t, not really. It never is.” He stared out over the water, at the smoke rising from within the walls of the city that was finally disappearing on the horizon, thinking of an apple and what it meant to be human. What it meant to be _free_. 

“Supposedly she was the most beautiful woman in the world.” Aziraphale said with a small sniff. Crowley looked at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Helen?” 

“Yes, of course Helen, who else would I be talking about?” 

Crowley sighed. “I met her once. She was… nice. Charming. Wicked smart.” Crowley said with a grin, and when he turned to Aziraphale the angel rolled his eyes. 

“Was she the most beautiful woman in the world, though? Worth all of this?” Aziraphale gestured out at the sea and the vanishing city. 

“ _I_ don’t know.” Crowley said. “And yes, it was worth it.” It had been her choice, Crowley thought, looking at the coastline and seeing a garden. It was worth it to her. 

Aziraphale, evidently, was not in the mood to humor Crowley’s reflective spell. “Let’s go below, I’m sick of the wind.” He said, nudging Crowley’s shoulder before making to walk further up the ship.

Crowley rolled his eyes again and stood up straight, no longer leaning on the railing and looking out at the water. “Better get used to it, angel, it’s a bad time of year to be sailing.” 

“We won’t be at sea for long. I know the captain, he’s a decent navigator.” Aziraphale said, cheerful confidence in his voice. Crowley shrugged and followed him, mind still in the past. 

“It was never about Helen.” He said again as they walked. “That’s just… a convenient excuse.” 

“Just the way the story goes.” Aziraphale said in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t really paying attention. 

“Yeah.” Crowley said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s always just the story.” 


	11. 7: Things You Said While We Were Driving

"Have you ever thought about moving away from London?" Aziraphale asked, his tone light and measured in a way Crowley knew meant he'd been thinking about this topic quite seriously and was only now ready to verbalize it. 

"What, and let you have the city to yourself? Good deeds run amok?" Crowley snorted, glancing at the angel out of the corner of his eye. He was drumming his fingers on the open window. _Very_ seriously, then. 

"Well, I... I'd rather thought... that is, I'd more meant..." he let out a frustrated sigh. "It seems we spend more time in the Bentley driving about the countryside than we do anywhere else, these days." 

Crowley focused on the road for a moment. He didn't need to, of course; the Bentley knew where they were going. Because Aziraphale was right, they had been spending an awful lot of time out of the city. He hadn't realized his friend had any strong feelings about it, though. 

"If you'd rather we stop-" 

"No!" Aziraphale said sharply. "I wouldn't! It's only..." 

Crowley waited, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel. He considered popping a tape into the blaupunkt and decided against it. 

"Crowley, would you want to... to live in the country with me?" Aziraphale said at last, almost painfully hesitantly. Crowley glanced at him again, his uncharacteristic lack of confidence throwing him. With a little nudge the Bentley took over driving so that Crowley could turn his full attention to the angel. 

"You want us to live together?" 

"Only if... I mean, you've always been very adamant about needing your own... but we spend so much time together, I just..." He looked out the open window, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. "Yes." Aziraphale said after a moment, still looking out the window. "Yes, that's what I want. Do you?" 

Crowley's own hand settled over the one on Aziraphale's knee, and he squeezed lightly as Aziraphale turned to look at him, apprehension and hope battling on his face. "Yeah, angel. I think I do." 


	12. 3: Things You Said Too Quietly

"Don't stop." 

The words were so quiet Aziraphale almost didn't hear them, thought he had misunderstood at first and pulled back. Crowley shuddered and opened his eyes, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, his mouth slightly open. "Angel," he said again, louder this time, a pleading edge to his voice. 

"Are you alright?" Aziraphale brushed Crowley's hair back from his forehead and cupped his cheek. His skin was flushed and he was still trembling.

"I was until you decided you needed you mouth for talking." Crowley said around a deep breath and a sigh.

Aziraphale felt a thrill go through him and he closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of the things he'd rather be doing with his mouth in this moment, all of them centered on Crowley. 

"Kiss me again." Crowley said, softly, softly. Aziraphale opened his eyes in time to see the smile spreading across Crowley's face as he leaned against the wall Aziraphale had pushed him into not two minutes before, the back of his head hitting the wood and his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. 

"With pleasure." Aziraphale said, smiling back. 

Crowley's hands fisting in the back of his shirt was all the further encouragement Aziraphale needed. 


	13. 10: Things You Said That Made Me Feel Like Shit

"I can't put it any better than that. Especially not to _you_." 

In the moment, Crowley had brushed it off. They had more pressing concerns, after all. But after Aziraphale had climbed out of the Bentley and gone into his shop without even so much as a reassuring parting word, it had come slamming back in on him. " _Especially not to you_." Might as well have said, _I can't explain and I won't even try, because I don't care what you think_.

It wasn't true, of course. Aziraphale had proven time and again that he _did_ care, Crowley wouldn't have overlooked the insensitive things he could say sometimes if that wasn't the case. But looking at the end of the world, alone, having been brushed off like it was _nothing_... 

He'd gone to Aziraphale in the first place because he hadn't wanted to face it all alone. That's what it had always been, hadn't it, since the first time they'd spoken in the Garden. Just the desire to be with somebody. They didn't need companionship, not the way humans did, but perhaps that wasn't true either. Perhaps Crowley had been human-shaped for so long he'd picked it up without meaning to. It was the only thing that could explain the crushing sense of loss as he watched Aziraphale close the door behind him without a backward glance. 


	14. 1: Things You Said At 1am

"Crowley!" 

Crowley jerked awake, his head whipping up from his pillow and his eyes peering around the room for the source of the voice. Aziraphale's voice. 

"What's wrong?" Crowley demanded with as little grogginess as he could manage. Full consciousness continued to eveade hima s Aziraphale swam into view, looking contrite and embarrassed. "Angel?" 

"I'm so sorry, my dear. I... well, I forgot you were asleep." Aziraphale admitted. 

Crowley glared at him. "Well, since I'm certainly not now, why don't you come over here and make it up to me?" 

Aziraphale did. 


	15. The Great British Bake-Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a post I made on tumblr which is basically an outline for a fic where Crowley enters the Great British Bake-Off.

Aziraphale and Crowley are snuggled on the couch watching The Great British Bakeoff one day and Crowley says offhandedly “I could win this competition.” And Aziraphale’s like, “you? You, who miracle 75% of all soufflés you make? Who burnt that bread so badly that time it started a house fire—“ “—c’mon angel, that was centuries ago—“ “—I’d like to see you get through multiple rounds of elimination without giving yourself away somehow, you ridiculous thing.”

Which of course Crowley takes as a Personal Challenge so he signs up and gets in by the skin of his teeth (and maybe by offering one of the other prospective contestants a very lucrative deal on a small building in London so she can open the bakery she’s always dreamed about) and Aziraphale is _furious_ , every week Crowley calls home to gloat and every week Aziraphale is _positive_ somebody is going to catch him doing magic and also why does everyone like him so much, Crowley usually isn’t this comfortable around strangers, this is absurd and he’s acting for television but Aziraphale is like… lowkey jealous of the fact that he’s charmed all the other contestants and the judges as well. Aziraphale fumes privately that if Crowley wins it’ll be because he cheated by unfairly leaning on demonic powers and charisma.

And then Crowley calls home that he’s been elimated in semi-finals, and it’s over something Aziraphale has seen him do perfectly well a thousand times before, with or without magic. He’s fully prepared for Crowley to come home and beat himself up about making a stupid mistake for weeks so he’s getting ready to switch into supportive boyfriend mode instead of petty and competitive mode but Crowley comes home with a grin and seems perfectly find and it turns put he intentionally messed up his pastry because he didn’t want to see any of the others go home that round, he’d had his fun and proven his point and they all deserve to be there more than he does and Aziraphale’s like… wow, I truly do love this stubborn, sentimental idiot, don’t I.

And then when the season comes out they watch it together and laugh at the way the editors have clearly tried to frame Crowley as sort of mysterious because he never takes his sunglasses off and Crowley’s a little confused and embarrassed by the two or three other contestants who _very_ clearly had a crush on him because he didn’t notice it at the time but watching it back on camera it is… incredibly obvious.

The two of them visit the bakery that belongs to the woman Crowley nudged out at the beginning every couple of months and every time Crowley says to Aziraphale as they’re driving back home that he thinks she probably would have won if he hadn’t taken her place so he’s glad he did it because otherwise they’d never be able to get into her shop, it’d be too busy.


	16. sitting next to someone, hands in one’s lap, leaning against them and kissing their shoulder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by an anon. 
> 
> Sitting next to someone, hands in one’s lap, leaning against them and kissing their shoulder

The television murmured on in the background but Crowley had long since stopped paying it any attention. How could he, when Aziraphale had nestled his face into the crook of Crowley’s neck and was breathing, if not like he was falling asleep, then like he was very close to thinking about it. 

Aziraphale never slept. Part of Crowley wondered if it was because he rarely felt safe to do so. Another part of him thought that was probably some kind of projection. But if there was anywhere Aziraphale _should_ feel safe, Crowley thought, looking at the mess of curls tucked against him and the way his legs were sprawled out over the rest of the couch where they were sitting in the back room of the bookshop, this would be it. 

“Angel?” Crowley said, very quietly, just in case he was wrong and Aziraphale had nodded off. 

In response, Aziraphale’s hands made their way into Crowley’s lap, twining their fingers together, and he pressed a kiss to Crowley’s shoulder that made Crowley go just a little bit soft and warm inside. 


	17. behind someone who’s sitting down, leaning over to kiss the forehead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by socks. 
> 
> behind someone who’s sitting down, leaning over to kiss the forehead (and potentially block their eyesight with hair falling in their face)

“Aren’t you done with that _yet_?” Crowley asked as he stuck his head around the doorframe of Aziraphale’s bedroom, his voice grating on the angel’s nerves after so long spent alternating between squinting at very small lines of numbers and squinting at the computer screen. 

“No, I’m not.” he said in a huff. 

“Well, miracle it finished so we can go to lunch.” Aziraphale looked around again just in time to see Crowley stride pointedly to the window and pull the curtain aside. “Well, dinner. How you can sit here and do this for hours–” 

“It’s important to keep financial records for the shop.” Aziraphale snapped, his voice rising as he felt himself getting defensive. “You know those auditors keep coming by and–” 

“Ever think they’d come by _less_ if you weren’t so precise about all this? It’s not quite human to do your taxes perfectly, angel. They’re probably suspicious.” 

Aziraphale turned pointedly back to the computer, fuming silently. “You can just go to dinner by yourself, then, if you’re so impatient.” He angrily typed out another line and pulled the top sheet off the remaining stack of papers towards himself. It really was going to take a depressingly long while to finish. He tried not to listen to the sound of Crowley’s feet padding across the carpet of the bedroom, hopefully heading back out into the hall and then downstairs. Aziraphale was rather shocked when instead he felt Crowley lean against his back, and he let out a small sound of surprise when the demon pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“Let’s go have dinner.” He said, warm against Aziraphale’s cheek. 

“Tempting.” Aziraphale chided as Crowley slid his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders and let his hands play with the top buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt. 

“Always.” Crowley said, and Aziraphale could hear rather than see the smirk on his face. Then, more softly, “please?” 

“I… alright.” Aziraphale said with a small sigh of pleasure as Crowley’s fingers slid inside his shirt. “Although if you keep going the direction you’re headed we’re not very likely to make it to dinner.” 

Crowley kissed him again, properly this time. “That works for me.” 


	18. kissing someone to stop them blurting out a secret/something they’ll regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by shootlngstxr.
> 
> kissing someone to stop them blurting out a secret/something they’ll regret

“–I’m only saying, angel, it could be fun. Bit messy, honestly, with humans, but if you’d like–”

“I wouldn’t like, though.” Aziraphale lied, watching the way the muscles in Crowley’s neck moved. The oddly-snakelike tongue came out to moisten his lips, and Aziraphale blinked in confusion at the cues that this was making the demon nearly as anxious as it was making Aziraphale. He plowed on anyway. “Sex is all well and good, but sex with _you_ is absolutely out of the question.” 

“And why is that?” Crowley asked. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and Aziraphale stared at it, thinking about Adams and apples and six thousand years between a garden and this flat, filled with nearly as lush greenery. 

“Because… because you’re a _demon_.” Aziraphale said. That wasn’t why, not really, but it was the closest approximation he could come up with in words, the old refrain he had to fall back on. “Because you can’t–” 

Crowley leaned forward, quick as lightning, as thought, and pressed a kiss to his lips. Aziraphale inhaled sharply as Crowley pulled away, and then he caught him by his tie and dragged him forwards again, crashing their lips back together. 

When they emerged, both panting, Crowley’s fingers gripping hard on Aziraphale’s wrist and Aziraphale trembling slightly, Crowley smiled in a way Aziraphale wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. It was really quite beautiful. 

“Why did you do that?” Aziraphale asked, feeling completely unmoored. 

“To stop you saying something you’ll regret.” 

“Oh.” There was a blush rising on Crowley’s face, and Aziraphale raised a hand and stroked a thumb over his sharp cheekbone, watching in fascination as his eyelids fluttered closed. What had he been going to say? 

“You _know_ I love you.” Crowley said, his eyes still closed. “You _know_ I do.” 

Aziraphale felt something shift, settle, like the tumblers in a lock clicking into place. _Oh._ Yes, that was it. 

“I love you, too, my dear.” He said, and Crowley kissed him again, relief apparent in every movement. 


	19. kissing scars either shortly or long after they’ve healed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by fan-art-ic. 
> 
> kissing scars either shortly or long after they’ve healed

Crowley writhed, trying and failing to stifle a distinctly undemonic sound as Aziraphale pressed a line of kisses up his chest. 

“Angel, stop.” He said, breathless with suppressed laughter as Aziraphale’s lips made their way across one of the scars on his chest. 

“Why do you keep these?” Aziraphale asked. His mouth was warm on Crowley’s skin, his hands stroking over his hips and further down. Crowley arched into his touch. 

“Why do you keep that mole on your neck or that– oh, _fuck_.” Crowley gasped, and Aziraphale chuckled. Crowley pinched the soft skin on his belly, and smirked as he yelped. “Why do you keep _this_?” 

“It’s _my body_.” Aziraphale said, sounding a little bit hurt. “I like it the way it is.” 

“So do I.” Crowley said. He kissed Aziraphale briefly. “Yours and mine.” 


	20. topless and face-down, a kiss on the shoulderblades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by bijoumiliving. 
> 
> topless and face-down, a kiss on the shoulderblades, "mayyyybe with wings".

“Hold still.” Crowley said, exasperated. Aziraphale’s wings fluttered beneath his hands and Crowley sighed. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just tense.” 

“I can tell.” Crowley sighed again. “Listen, if you don’t want me to groom your wings that’s fine.” He shifted his weight on Aziraphale’s hips. The angel’s wings twitched again. Huh. Crowley ground downward experimentally, and Aziraphale let out a little moan. “Aziraphale?” 

“Don’t say anything.” Aziraphale’s tone was clipped, his face buried in his elbow. Crowley was sure it would be flaming red if he looked up. 

So instead of responding, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s shoulder blade, holding feathers out of the way with careful fingers. Aziraphale shivered, but his wings stayed, for the most part, still. Crowley did it again, lingering this time.

“How’s that?”

“It’s nice.” Aziraphale sighed, and Crowley grinned. He stroked a finger down Aziraphale’s spine, where the wings met his back, and kissed him again, moving inward, letting his hands glide over the smooth expanse of feathers as he went. 

“Angel,” Crowley whispered after some time, during which he continued to kiss along Aziraphale’s spine and began to straighten and pluck out loose feathers, “do you want me to top you?” 

“Generally speaking, or at this specific moment?” Aziraphale said, and Crowley snorted. 

“I think, _generally speaking,_ I know what you prefer. But…” 

“Yes.” 

Crowley smiled and gave a particularly sharp tug on an errant primary, and Aziraphale gasped. “Good.” 


	21. cuddling in front of the fireplace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by regencysnuffboxes
> 
> cuddling in front of the fireplace.

Aziraphale shut the heavy door behind him and glared at the empty grate. A fire sprang to life with some confusion as to what it was actually burning before deciding that the logs by the door in the back of the shop downstairs would be perfectly fine. The angel sighed and looked around the room, setting his bags down by the wardrobe. 

Say what you would about the Italians, at least it was warm on the Mediterranean. Aziraphale took off his coat and was making to hang it up when something moving in one of the pockets made him yell and drop it. A small snake slithered out and the angel let out a breath of mingled relief and irritation. “You might have just said you wanted to come back to Britain with me.” 

Crowley changed back into approximately-man-shaped with a grin. “Hell of a lot easier to just sleep in your pocket for the week it took you to get here.” 

“I thought you hated shapeshifting.” 

Crowley shrugged and settled himself in front of the now roaring fire. 

“Make yourself at home, then, I suppose.” Aziraphale said, as ungraciously as he could manage considering the smile that was tugging at his lips. 

Crowley did, stretching out on the rug in front of the fire like a large, luxuriant cat. After several moments Aziraphale abandoned the pretense of unpacking his bag into the wardrobe and sat down on the floor next to him. 

Crowley opened one yellow eye and stared up at him. Then he got up with a sigh, rearranging himself so he was cuddled up against Aziraphale instead of lying down. Aziraphale wrapped an arm around him, which elicited a contented sound and a press of lips against his neck. 

“If you won’t be persuaded to move back to Rome the least you could do is live somewhere a bit warmer than London. France, maybe?” 

“Absolutely not.” Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s grumble of displeasure trailed off as Aziraphale ran his fingers through his hair. “Comfortable?” He asked, his voice very dry, and Crowley elbowed him with a derisive snort. 

“More than I was trying to sleep in your coat. What are you carrying in your pockets, two centuries of sweets wrappers and rocks?” 

Aziraphale huffed but chose not to respond, staring into the fire. As a matter of fact, he did have quite a lot of detritus in the pockets of his coat, and also one small box with an even smaller object inside, something he’d purchased a couple years ago when diamonds had started growing in popularity. 

It seemed very likely the presentation of a ring and the promise of fidelity it entailed would be met with laughter and Aziraphale couldn’t really have blamed Crowley if that were the case; it was a silly human custom and may have been an even sillier thing to presume he’d care. They’d been together for so long it might have been superfluous to say anything about it. But then, Crowley had always loved beautiful objects with no apparent utility, so perhaps it would go over well anyway. Even so, he hadn’t given it to him yet, and likely wouldn’t for some time, but it made him feel… warm, somehow, to carry it around. 


	22. cuddling for comfort while somebody is crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by bijoumiliving and an anon. 
> 
> cuddling for comfort while someone is crying.

Crowley let himself into the bookshop and flipped the sign to ‘closed’ as he shut the door. He had come over here with a very specific purpose, which he’d very much like not to be disturbed in, and the door locked itself as he made his way into the shop.

Any plans Crowley might have had flew out the window at the sight of Aziraphale, sitting behind the till with tears rolling down his face, looking absolutely gutted.

“Aziraphale?” 

“I’m fine.” Aziraphale said, brushing at his face with the back of his hand and turning quickly away. 

“You’re clearly not. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Aziraphale shook his head, pushing his glasses up into his hair so he could reach his eyes better, patting all his pockets in search of a handkerchief. Crowley produced one and handed it to him and he took it with a watery “thank, you”. He blew his nose and slumped against the surface of the counter, clearly trying to get himself under control and failing. Crowley was torn between the desperate desire to help and discomfort that he had no idea how to do so. 

“Aziraphale.” He said weakly. “What–” 

Aziraphale shook his head, letting out a small choked sound, and Crowley, at a complete loss for any other course of action, strode around the back of the counter and nudged him up off his stool and back around the counter, into the back room and to the couch, where he sat down and pulled Aziraphale into his arms. He came willingly, clinging to Crowley like someone drowning, and Crowley held him, rubbing his back and shushing him softly as he sobbed. 

“Angel, breathe.” He murmured, and Aziraphale took a deep, shaky breath, and then another, and eventually his sniffling stopped and Crowley shifted his hold on him so he was nestled against his shoulder instead of buried in his chest. 

“I’m so sorry, dear boy.” Aziraphale said in a very quiet voice, letting Crowley tuck his head under his chin. “What must you think of me?” 

“I’m mostly thinking that I’d really like to know what brought this on so that if there’s some measure of revenge I can extract for it I can do so.” 

Aziraphale chuckled, and Crowley felt a few more tears soak into his shoulder. “It’s foolish, you needn’t concern yourself.” 

“We’ve known each other a very long time, angel, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry without good reason.” 

“It’s nothing.” 

Crowley didn’t say anything, choosing to ignore the unpleasant feeling in his stomach, and instead kissed Aziraphale’s temple. If it was important Aziraphale would bring it back up later, and if it wasn’t, well. Crowley knew when not to pry, after so many years. 


	23. cuddling just waking up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by fan-art-ic. 
> 
> cuddling just waking up.

Crowley yawned and blinked, gazing across the bedroom at the wide beam of sunlight coming in through window, watching dust motes drift through it and vanish from perception again. He tried to raise his arm to stretch and found he was still being spooned by a very persistent, very cozy angel. He nudged Aziraphale just awake enough so he could roll over and kiss him, and Aziraphale hummed, his eyes still closed. 

“Sleep well?” Crowley asked, a teasing tone in his voice. 

“Yes, very.” Aziraphale replied without a trace of irony, and Crowley laughed, closed his eyes again, and snuggled closer. 


	24. cuddling in public, with rain outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by dwarvenbeardspores. 
> 
> "cuddling in public, with rain outside".

They were waiting for a bus. 

Technically they didn’t need to be, they could have rented a car, but Crowley did not feel confident enough in a vehicle that wasn’t his own beloved Bentley nor in Americans’ driving habits (they were on the wrong side of the road, for a start) to navigate them successfully around. They could have taken the tube (”subway”, Aziraphale had said unhelpfully as Crowley stared down at the map of the city’s underground) but that, too, was inconvenient, as Boston didn’t seem to have the most efficient… well, anything. The underground didn’t go very far into the areas surrounding the city, at any rate, and that was why the pair were now huddled in a bus stop, trying not to get rained on.

“Almost like home, in this weather.” Crowley said curtly, and Aziraphale sighed. 

“We’re only here a couple days more, my dear, and I _did_ apologize for getting us stuck on this assignment.” 

That wasn’t technically true. It was Aziraphale who had been sent to America on assignment from Heaven, but Crowley would have been damned a second time before leave Aziraphale to wander around the colonies on his own for a month. America was still “the colonies” in Aziraphale’s mind, regardless of how much it had grown or what fresh horrors it was pumping out daily. Crowley felt quite superfluous here, but that wasn’t a particularly unique experience, either. 

The rain beat down outside their little shelter, rattling the plastic sheets that covered the windows. Crowley leaned against Aziraphale and the angel put an arm around him. Somebody passing by on the street outside looked in at them, and Crowley glared as they walked on in their long coat and their boots and their umbrella. He hadn’t packed well for this trip. 

“I never thought I’d say this but I miss England.” Crowley grumbled, and it was close enough to the truth. What he missed was being near enough to home that he could pop in and get another pair of shoes if the weather changed, and being able to take the Bentley around the city, and the comforting aura of his flat, Aziraphale’s shop, St James and the Ritz, places they frequented so often they’d developed a sense for them in return. 

Aziraphale squeezed his shoulder and kissed his forehead. “We’re going home soon.” 


	25. "is that my shirt?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by an anon. 
> 
> "is that my shirt?"

Crowley let out a sigh of exasperation as the buzzer by his door went off. Why Aziraphale wouldn’t just let himself in, after all this time, he didn’t know. Probably human laws or some such nonsense. Experience had taught him that the angel wouldn’t come up if Crowley didn’t buzz him back to let him know he was unlocking the front door of his building, so with another dramatic sigh he hauled himself up from the couch. 

As soon as he was finished he sat right back down again, pulling a blanket around himself and yawning. Winter made him so tired, every year, and after so long living in London it seemed he ought to have gotten used to it, but he hadn’t. He watched the cooking show that was running with half his attention, curled up against the arm of the couch.

Aziraphale came into Crowley’s flat noisily, as he usually did, and hung his coat and scarf by the door before coming into the living room and prodding Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Are you awake?” 

“Well I am now.” Crowley snapped, glaring up at Aziraphale, who had the decency to look apologetic. “Did you come over here just to be a nuisance?” 

Aziraphale’s tone was very dry. “I came over here to see if you’d like to go out, but I’m sensing the answer to that may be ‘no’.” 

“You could have called beforehand.” Crowley stretched, threw off the blanket, and got up to get them wine. If they were going to stay in, might as well make a proper event of it. 

“Are you–” Aziraphale started, and when Crowley turned back to him, he closed his mouth again, looking Crowley up and down. 

“What?” 

“Is that my shirt?” 

Crowley glanced down at what he was wearing. He’d been fully intending to spend the day inside, alone, trying not to fall asleep, and he was only now noticing he’d pulled on one of the shirts Aziraphale had left in his flat at some point. It was a very light blue that did not flatter Crowley at all, but then, he hadn’t neglected to return it because he was fond of the color.

“Looks like it.” 

“How long have you had that?” Aziraphale frowned. “I thought I’d lost it.” 

“You left it here over a month ago, I’d say that makes it mine now.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale bit his lip. 

Crowley, who had been expecting some sort of snappy retort, was thrown off. “Do you… want it back?” he prompted. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth and closed it again. Then he said, “No, I’d rather you kept it.” 

“Good, because I’m going to.” Crowley said as he turned back towards the kitchen again. 

“You like it that much?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley returned with wine and two glasses and started looking through his dvd collection for something to put on. Something about Aziraphale’s tone made him stop what he was doing and turn to look at him significantly. 

“No, angel, I don’t like _the shirt_ that much.”

Aziraphale kissed him when he sat back down, and Crowley sighed in a very different way as he settled against him. 


	26. "please come home, i miss you"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by fan-art-ic. 
> 
> "please come home, I miss you".

Aziraphale listened to Crowley chatter into the phone, the familiar sound of his voice more important than whatever he was complaining about while he stayed in Dubai. It was work-related, and had something to do with a company that manufactured cell phones, and that was all Aziraphale really knew. Well, that and the fact it had been nearly a month now, with no sign of when Hell’s assignment would be complete. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said after a moment, and Aziraphale realized he must have asked him something. 

“I’m sorry, my dear, I missed that.” 

“Spotty reception?” Crowley asked. “That shouldn’t be happening but maybe it’s carried over from the project. Let me get outside, I think–” 

“No, the reception is fine. I was just thinking.” 

“Oh. About what?” 

Aziraphale frowned as he sat down, finally giving up on trying to reorganize his shelves on art history and instead devoting his full attention to the phone. “It used to be so much harder to keep in touch whenever one or both of us would leave England.” 

Crowley’s voice was bright and beaming when he responded. “I know. Humans love their technology, eh?” 

“No, that’s not it. It used to be so much harder to keep in touch and yet… I always find, recently, that I’m…” Aziraphale’s frown deepened. “The distance seems farther, when it’s so easy to communicate across it.” 

When Crowley spoke again, it was in a voice like he’d just had all the wind knocked out of him. “Oh, angel.” 

“Maybe it’s silly.” Aziraphale admitted. “But… I miss you. Please come home.” 

“As soon as I can, I promise. In another day or so I should be able to shuffle the rest of this off onto the CEO of this corporation, once it gets going it’ll more or less run itself.” Crowley’s voice grew warmer, softer. “I’l be on a plane to London by the end of the week.” 

“Good.” 

“You’d better have something nice planned to welcome me back.” Crowley said with evident forced lightness, and Aziraphale laughed. 

“Oh, my dear,” he murmured, listening with pleasure to the way Crowley’s breath hitched at his tone, “I certainly will.” 


	27. "you're getting crumbs all over my bed"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by dwarvenbeardspores. 
> 
> "you're getting crumbs all over my bed."

Crowley woke up warm and comfortable, with a pleasant weight against him. He cracked an eye open and saw Aziraphale, sprawled out mostly on top of him, with a book laying on Crowley’s chest and a sleeve of crackers. 

“Angel, what on Earth… you’re getting crumbs all over my bed.” Crowley brushed at the blankets, which were, indeed, covered in crumbs from Aziraphale’s snack. 

Putting a bookmark daintily in to make his place (in Crowley’s own well-read copy of _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_ which he must have taken out of the office, Crowley noted) Aziraphale set it aside on the large bed and laid his head on his crossed arms atop Crowley’s chest, looking at Crowley with heavy-lidded eyes. “You’ve been asleep rather a long time.” 

“Have I?” Crowley looked at the clock on the bedside table and clicked his tongue. “Four hours isn’t a long time, angel.” He ran a hand through Aziraphale’s hair, tangling it between his fingers. Aziraphale leaned into the touch. 

“It has been from my perspective. You’re nowhere near as much fun asleep, my dear.” 

Crowley’s heart skipped and his fingers wandered down over Aziraphale’s cheek and trailed across his lips. The angel kissed his fingertips, and Crowley’s voice came out rather hoarse when he said, “you could have gone home, you know. Or gone to sleep yourself.” 

“I wanted to watch you wake up.” Aziraphale admitted, flushing, and Crowley smirked. 

“Romantic.” 

Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgement as he sat up and rearranged himself so he could press a kiss to Crowley’s fluttering pulse. 


	28. "just please be my best friend right now" and "we're not just friends"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by regencysnuffboxes and holoxam, respectively. 
> 
> “Just please be my best friend right now, not the guy I just confessed my love to.”
> 
> “we’re not just friends and you fucking know it”

1798

Aziraphale was sitting in the back room, reading _The Times_ for updates on what was being called the Irish Rebellion with his brow furrowed and his tongue between his teeth, when somebody knocked frantically on the side door. 

There were very few people it could be, and even fewer who would call at this time of night, but Aziraphale started nonetheless. He closed the paper without bothering to arrange it neatly and strode across the room. When he flung the door open it was to find Crowley, as he expected, soaked to the skin from the night’s heavy rain, holding out two bottles of wine and wearing a pleading expression. 

Aziraphale stood aside to let him come in and he did so with a mumbled thanks, shrugging out of his sopping wet coat and hanging it on the coat rack. He set the bottles down on Aziraphale’s side table and turned to face him with something like terror on his face. 

“Crowley, what–” 

“Stop. I have to– Aziraphale, I love you.” 

Aziraphale blinked. “I beg your pardon?” 

“I love you. I realized as I was… it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, the important thing is I came over here as quickly as I could, because I love you, and I need you to– angel, I don’t know what–” Crowley stopped and clutched Aziraphale’s arm. His hand was very cold. 

“Are you drugged?” Aziraphale asked, thinking of their shared proclivity for alcohol and wondering if Crowley’s hadn’t taken a turn for something stronger. He thought of the death toll listed in the paper and refrained from asking if Crowley’s side had had a hand in it. It didn’t seem the time. 

“Am I– no, you complete bastard, I’m not drugged! I–” Crowley ran a hand through his hair and Aziraphale noticed it was shaking. He opened his mouth, closed it again. His face seemed to shutter, the gleam in his eyes replaced with something almost defeated. “You don’t believe me.” 

“Of course I don’t, when you come in here acting like that.” Aziraphale said with small sniff. “Dry yourself off and let’s have a drink and talk like reasonable people.” 

Crowley nodded, and a shudder ran through him as he miracled the rain off, his hair curling slightly as it dried. Aziraphale watched him cautiously as they sat down. 

“So, news?” Crowley asked after he’d finished a glass in several large mouthfuls. “Does Upstairs know anything about any of…” he pointed at the paper, and Aziraphale shook his head. 

“Not that they’ve shared with me, no. But really, my dear, are you… quite well? What was that–” 

“Stop.” Crowley said, putting up a hand and grimacing. “Just. Just please be my friend right now, and not the person I just confessed my love to.” 

Aziraphale frowned, but if Crowley wanted to play this off as some momentary delirium, he was more than happy to play along. 

Two weeks later, when he received a short letter in the mail saying Crowley was taking a long and well-deserved nap, and that he expected to be left alone, Aziraphale was less sure.

* * *

It was going to be a long time, Crowley thought, before he wanted to look Aziraphale in the face again. So long, in fact, that he considered leaving the country. He could pack up his possessions (he’d always been far more willing and able to travel light than Aziraphale) and set off for… somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t England. It might even be good for him. 

But Crowley didn’t want something good for him. He wanted… well, he wanted Aziraphale, really, but barring that he wanted the terrible ache in his chest, from the angel and from everything else that had ever, ever happened to him, to go away for a while. Where could he possibly run to escape _that_. The world wasn’t big enough for that sort of running. 

He supposed he could go back to Hell, that would probably cure him of his misery regarding what he was fairly sure was just called “the human condition”, but the prospect was very grim, and the fact he was even considering it made him want to cry. 

So instead he sat down to send Aziraphale a letter. 

~~Aziraphale,  
Please let me try again to explain to you how much I–~~

~~Aziraphale,  
About what I said the other night. I’m sorry–~~

~~Aziraphale,  
We’re not just friends and you know it–~~

Aziraphale,  
Hope all is well with you. As for me, I’m taking a well-deserved, and likely quite long, nap. Don’t contact me.   
C


	29. "I think I'm in love with you"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by socks. 
> 
> "I think I'm in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me."

It was spring, and it was looking like it might rain, and Crowley was moving his plants back out to the balcony. The begonia had been lucky to survive the winter, and the ivy needed a bigger pot before it became root bound, and the herbs he’d started on the windowsill in the bedroom could come out as well. He was feeling very cheerful, almost annoyingly so, considering the stern lecture he was trying to prepare for the lavender. He was also pointedly ignoring thinking about a conversation he knew he really ought to have with Aziraphale. 

The angel had mentioned, in a would-be-casual way, the idea of the two of them moving out of London together. Said something about how fond Crowley seemed to be of driving through the countryside lately, and how it might be nice to live by the sea again. Not even a word of warning beforehand, just “would you like to move to the country with me, my dear?” in that insufferable tone he used when they were avoiding The Subject. Well. Crowley was no expert, but he rather thought ceasing avoiding The Subject was a necessary precursor to something like moving in together. 

Crowley finished dealing with his plants and thought about a plan of attack. Bringing the angel here was out of the question, as was confronting him in his shop. There was a very small but still possible chance that Aziraphale would make a scene, which meant any of their usual restaurants was out of the question. And while Crowley had been spending a lot of time driving them around the countryside recently, he didn’t fancy the idea of trying to do this from the confines of his car. Which left the park, really. Bit public, but then, there were plenty of little curves in paths that afforded the illusion of privacy. 

With his mind made up, Crowley called Aziraphale. 

Three quarters of an hour later they were walking in a silence that Crowley wondered if Aziraphale felt was as tense as Crowley did. He’d planned very specifically what he was going to say as he threatened his garden, but now, in person, it seemed a bit… inadequate. Embarrassing, somehow. 

“Look,” Crowley found himself saying before he could stop himself, deciding to just try and charge through, “what did you mean, do I want to move to the country with you?” 

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “I would have thought it was obvious. Generally when one asks ‘would you like to move in with me’, one means ‘would you like to move in with me’.” 

“Don’t be a prick, Aziraphale.” Crowley said, squaring his shoulders. “You know what I meant.” 

“And I thought _you_ knew what _I_ meant.” Aziraphale said, very petulant. This was going about as well as Crowley had expected, which was to say, not very well at all. 

“I want to hear it from you explicitly.” Crowley frowned at how accusatory his tone had come out, but then, he was accusing the angel. “I want you to tell me, exactly, what it is you think we’re doing here.” 

Aziraphale sighed. “What is it you want me to say, my dear?” 

The laugh that came out of Crowley felt like it had been ripped from his throat against his will, something desperate, and he swallowed heavily, everything raw and painful and tight in his chest all of a sudden. “Angel.” He said, and Aziraphale’s expression twitched. “Angel, I’d really appreciate it if you could, for once in your life, just…” 

For a moment Crowley thought Aziraphale was about to reach out and take his hand, and then he didn’t, and Crowley felt something well up behind his eyes and blinked very rapidly to prevent it from escaping. When Aziraphale made no move forward, Crowley closed the distance between them, positively shaking with what he was about to do. 

The kiss was a very brief thing, Crowley barely brushing his lips against Aziraphale’s but when he pulled back the angel had closed his eyes and was holding his breath. “Aziraphale,” Crowley said, and his voice came out a whisper, “Aziraphale, I need you to… I need _something_ , some sort of… I don’t know, reassurance…” 

Aziraphale opened his eyes, as still as if he’d been frozen, and stared at Crowley with an expression that looked alien on his face but which Crowley recognized intimately: sheer terror. It was this, more than anything, that let the words trip over his tongue at last, at last, after days, weeks, centuries, millennia.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Crowley said, so quietly he wasn’t fully sure he’d spoken at all. “And it scares the crap out of me, so please, angel, just–” 

Aziraphale’s expression cleared, and he was pulling Crowley towards him now, kissing his lips and his cheeks and his chin and his jaw, almost frantically, like he worried he might not get another chance. Crowley felt quite out of his element. 

“Get off, Aziraphale, are you–” 

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale said, a little breathlessly. “Oh, my dear Crowley.” He pressed one final, long kiss to Crowley’s mouth, and pulled back again, looking very happy. 

“What was that?” 

“I love you, too, my dear.” Aziraphale said. “That’s why I asked. After everything that’s happened, I didn’t want to, well, lose track of you again. …I suppose I thought that you didn’t feel the same.” He finished in a rush.

“Why in the name of sanity did you ask me to move in with you if you didn’t know that I–” 

“I had sort of figured I’d take what I could get, and then when you started this line of conversation–” 

“You asked me to live in the country with you because you thought I’d, what, be tempted by the promise of a sea view? More ample gardening space?” 

“Something like that.” Aziraphale looked away, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “I thought, well, even if you never… it would still be something, wouldn’t it, to see you every day, and even if you couldn’t ever love me back–” 

Crowley laughed, because the absurdity of the statement was just too much. The idea that he could not love Aziraphale, that he could ever, in a hundred thousand lifetimes, not be head-over-heels for this irritating, infuriating, absolutely daft idiot who had gone to the end of the world with Crowley and somehow come out the other side, was too much. 

“Oh, angel. I don’t know that I’ve ever said this and genuinely meant it, but we’re both morons.” Crowley grinned, kissed Aziraphale’s nose, and grinned wider at the resulting sound Aziraphale made. “I love you, truly, and nothing would make me happier than to buy a cottage and spend the rest of eternity there with you.” 

Aziraphale looked relieved. “I’m glad, my dear. I’m so glad.” He squeezed Crowley’s hand. 


	30. "bite me" and "you're so fucking hot when you're mad"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for megafowl.

“–anyway it’s not like your precious Israelites are going anywhere.” Crowley said with a shrug that nearly slid him off his chair. When he’d righted himself he grinned across the table at Aziraphale, who rolled his eyes. 

“Sober up a bit, Crowley.” Aziraphale replied as sternly as he could manage, although the effect was rather ruined by the hiccup in the middle and his own very evident drunkenness. “They _are_ going somewhere, that’s exactly the point. Think they’ve been promised a place. Gone off to find it.” 

“Have they? Been promised?” Crowley asked. He took another drink. Aziraphale vanished the remaining contents of his cup and huffed in exasperation as Crowley, staring him dead in the eye, made the wine appear again. 

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale admitted. It had become apparent to him in the last millennia that His chosen people and Aziraphale’s own contacts in Heaven had _very_ different ideas about what was really going on, but every once in a while the humans got it right. Aziraphale hadn’t worked out why this was true yet but he did not appreciate Crowley making insinuations or asking questions nonetheless. “It’s none of your business though, not after what happened between Samson and Delilah.” 

Crowley laughed. “You think _I_ had something to do with that?” 

“Didn’t you?” 

“That was Dagon’s scene, not mine.” Crowley pulled a face. “Destroying a temple, not exactly subtle, is it? Not really my style.” His tone was smug as he lifted his cup to take another drink, and before he’d really registered what he was doing Aziraphale had slapped it from his hand, boiling the alcohol from his own blood as he did so. Crowley leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“What was that for?” 

“You’re so–” Aziraphale struggled for a moment, trying to come up with the words that captured his annoyance at Crowley’s attitude, and failed. “Don’t lie to me, alright?” 

“I’m not!” 

“Don’t give me that nonsense, I know you and I know what sort of things you go in for. Eve–” 

“You think I had something to do with Delilah because of _Eve_?” Crowley’s voice had gotten deadly quiet and his eyes had narrowed. 

“Yes, of course, that is ‘your style’, isn’t it, manipulating women into doing your dirty work for you?” 

“Bite me.” Crowley growled, and made to stand up. He overbalanced and staggered against the table, jostling it against Aziraphale and spilling the remains of their drinks onto the floor. 

“Oh, get a grip, will you?” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the alcohol in Crowley’s system burned away. Crowley turned to him, and Aziraphale rose to his feet, feeling true anger begin to form out of his annoyance, pounding behind his eyes. "Stop being such a bastard and... why are you looking at me like that?" 

Crowley was gripping the back of his chair very hard, his eyes wide, and Aziraphale felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he realized what he must look like. They didn't, as a rule, discorporate each other, but enough had happened in the thousand years since they'd met in the garden that it would have been a minor miracle if Crowley hadn't picked up on what Aziraphale looked like when he was about to smite someone. Not that he would ever want to hurt Crowley. The idea turned his stomach, actually, as did the possibility he might have scared the demon. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Sorry?" Crowley blinked, taken aback. "For what?" 

"I--" Now it was Aziraphale who was surprised and wrong-footed, struggling to figure out what Crowley's body language meant if not that he'd thought for a moment Aziraphale was going to discorporate him.

"You're hot when you're mad, you know that?" Crowley said, cracking a grin, and Aziraphale felt something in the world shift. It was like coming home to find all your furniture has been moved a half an inch to the left and trying to determine how and why and the incredulous sensation that accompanied the suspicion that someone has been in your house to accomplish this completely pointless and petty crime, except Aziraphale knew exactly the person who would do such a thing, and that person was standing across the table. 

Aziraphale had no idea how to respond. 

After a long moment Crowley shrugged and turned away, brushing his hair back from his forehead and shaking his head. "Forget it. I'll see you around, angel." 

Aziraphale watched him walk out of the tavern, trying and failing to sort through the sensations he was experiencing, only knowing that he wished Crowley would have stayed a moment longer. 


End file.
